Semper Fidelis, Semper Paratus
by DemonicAngelic
Summary: Always Faithful, Always Ready.' - A shortish piece about friendship at Croft Manor.
1. Words to Span the Night Time

Jenn / Symbimorph / DemonAngel / Princess Pixel / DemonicAngelic at your service. 16 years old, massive fan of Chris Barrie...  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, Hillary, Bryce...et cetera.  
  
Enjoy. Feel free to review with constructive criticism. Or flames. I don't care.  
  
Sometimes it's best to just keep to the book: barricade your emotion, shoot down anything you are about to say before you say it and kill any pent-up feeling before it breaks out and kills you first.  
  
And, like many tombs, treasures and tinctures Lara Croft had encountered throughout her many years as 'Tomb Raider'...she had learned that it is best to keep things buried.  
  
But then again, sometimes things aren't that easy to keep buried.

* * *

"Well..." Bryce kicked off his shoes against the dented tin wall of his robot- inhabited trailer as he slammed the aluminium door behind him. "Kenya..."  
  
There was no reply from the scuttling, minuscule metal spiders and bugs, only the faint murmering of Lady Lara and Hillary, her well-entrusted butler, as they made their way fresh from the helicopter up the path, towards the front door of Croft Manor.  
  
It had been a long, daresay; uncomfortable flight back from Africa, and much of the journey was spent with uneasy and disgusted glances between Bryce and Hillary - was that 'ceremony' strictly legally binding?! - and apparent grins and smirks from Miss Croft. She had taken great pleasure in making sarcastic remarks and pouring tidings of congratulations unto the 'happy couple', also displaying faux-outrage at the lack of the 'bridesmaid invitation'. Of course, the whole situation was extremely hilarious to Lara, in that the 'ceremony' was not one of marriage at all; as matter of fact, it wasn't a ceremony at all. It was a simple makeover session - the women of the African tribe had simply thought Bryce and Hillary's appearances were about as stylish as a hippo in a grass skirt.  
  
But, as she was getting so much fun out of it, she had neglected to tell her friends.

* * *

The immense solid mahogany doors towered above Mister Nicholas Hillary and Lady Lara Croft. Lara soaked in the sight of the Manor, then turned and paced down the path, away from the door until she came to the beginning of the main driveway, facing Croft Gardens.  
  
"My..." Hillary began, as he redirected his exhausted gaze from Lara, upward to meet the diamond-encrusted blue velvet that had engulfed the world on that crisp, dark night. "The weather tonight is nothing short of beautiful, wouldn't you agree, Lara?"  
  
Lara gently clasped her eyelids closed, tilted her head backwards and inhaled the sweet, English air. A divine scent of rose from the hundred- acre Gardens swirled through her, and a symphony of chirping crickets, nocturnal birds and the placid rustling of the hedgerows and trees soothingly ebbed and flowed throughout the cool breeze.  
  
The breeze took slight crescendos and diminuendos and it interwove itself through Lady Croft's flowing dark hair. Finally, she straightened her head and opened her tired, bloodshot eyes.  
  
She was home.  
  
"Simply enchanting. One could almost stay out here forever...just taking it all in...the Sky, the Stars, the Heavens..."  
  
Lara turned her head slightly to meet the figure of the man she shared her every waking moment with. She let out a sepulchral sigh as he too lowered his look from the skies to meet her saddened demeanour.  
  
"Nicholas," She began her second-long journey back up the path towards him. "I nearly ended up..."  
  
She paused momentarily.  
  
"...There."  
  
A solitary tear rolled down her gashed cheek, causing it to sting a little. She just managed to stop herself from flinching.  
  
Not quite sure of what to say in response (which came as a surprise to both Lara and Hillary) he too acquired an expression of great dispirit, and held out his arms as an alternative compensation for her words. She obliged, approached him and buried her tear-speckled face into the shoulder of her confidante. He tenderly rested his dishevelled head onto hers, lifted one hand from Lara's bruised back and sensitively began to stroke her unkempt hair.  
  
She sobbed.  
  
It took a while; but eventually, serenity purified the air around them again, and Lara lifted her face from Hillary's creased, tear-sodden coat. He loosened his already-light hold on her and in a fatherly manner, swept a stray wisp of mocha-brown hair from her face and a gem-like tear from her cheek. She lowered her eyes in a mixture of melancholy and slighted embarrassment.  
  
"Are you alright? You've never been like this before, Lara." Off the sight of Lara's fresh tear emerging from her emerald-green eye, he sighed in a gentile manner. "What happened down there? Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
She attempted a smile, but only managed a weak tug at the corners of her full lips.  
  
Nicholas Hillary sighed again and made a far better effort at a smile.  
  
He let go entirely as she brushed herself down and inhaled deeply. She shivered involuntarily.  
  
Hillary's smile broadened a tiny part, as he looked her quivering frame from top to bottom.  
  
"Lady, maybe we should go in? It's becoming very cold. Come along, Lara." He swept his jacket from his shoulders, and placed it neatly around her own.  
  
And with that he pulled out a colossal cast-iron key, bigger than his hand, from his bag and efficiently lifted it into the Mahogany door's lock.

* * *

Croft Manor's marble twin-stairways, numerous book-ridden bookcases, Grandfather Clock and gargantuan Chinese rugs stood indignantly and proud before the two travellers, as Hillary closed the front doors behind him.  
  
He sighed loudly and sniffed the homely air that rushed toward them like a dog that had been missing its owner.  
  
"Home."  
  
Lara turned to Hillary. He seemed so happy. Kenya was a beautiful, gorgeous place, but nowhere beats home. Hillary had never liked staying away from the Manor for too long, even since the first week she had known him. He had never complained about it when they had been on the actual trips, but Lara could tell when Nicholas was at his happiest. He would melt into a routine as soon as he stepped into his home... which was what he was doing right now.  
  
"Hmm, Dusty." He decided, and immediately proceeded in heading straight to the 'utilities' cupboard.  
  
"Hilly?" Lara muttered, with an expression that would have put those very stars outside to shame; "You don't have to do that right now, do you?"  
  
A warm red swept across the butler's cheeks as he spun round. "No, I don't suppose I do." He laughed slightly and went back to pick up the suitcases that still sat at the door.  
  
"I didn't mean that," Lara continued. "I meant, could we have that conversation you promised?"  
  
Nicholas J Hillary, yet again, beaten by Lady Lara Croft.  
  
A brazen grin threatened to escape from Lara as she watched him compose himself again and pace purposefully toward her. She held out her hand for him, which, of course, he was obliged to take as they led each other to the downstairs sitting room.  
  
As they walked, Hillary and Lara smiled contentedly and comfortably.  
  
But behind Lara's smile; a rampaging beast thundered around her chest, smashing her heart like it was a vase on an unbalanced pedestal. It swung heavily on her heart-strings, mauled her every thought and chewed relentlessly on her will. Her every emotion was a martyr.  
  
That feeling clawed and scraped its way to Lara's façade, slicing and shredding through it like a knife through paper.  
  
She begun to cling on to Hillary so desperately she felt that if she had let go she would succumb to the inner beasts' torture. Lara Croft: warrior and world-renowned Tomb Raider, simply wasn't strong enough to do this on her own.  
  
She had killed Terry Sheridan. The man she loved.  
  
And now, all she had was Christian Bryce - a great intelligence, loyal friend and general computer-whiz-kid. And the very definition of 'loyal' - Nicholas Hillary: the only man she could trust with her life: the man, the only man, the felt was her equal. A Man, whom was not only adroit at keeping up appearances at Croft Manor, but could hold a darned good fight against her. A Man who shared, hell, gave his very essence to protect and look after her.  
  
And one of these friends didn't even live with her. A 24-bedroomed house; and Scott Bryce preferred to live in his poky little caravan, minus toilet utility, with his battery-operated home-made bugs.  
  
They reached the sitting room and Hillary guided Lara to a chair in front of the fireplace. The seat almost virtually drowned her, it was designed for one - but could easily hold two or three. He tried to let her go to summon up another chair for himself and to switch on the gargantuan Victorian-style fire. But Lara still silently refused to let the physical contact between them disappear. Hillary was worried deeply by this.  
  
"Lara...if we're going to talk, I need a chair. I'm getting a bit old to stand for too long."  
  
His complaint went unanswered as she gazed upward at his concerned face with such despondency and heartache that Nicholas' heart nearly burst.  
  
His words confused her. 'Too old'? He wasn't a day over forty. He 'needed a chair'? He underwent training with her on an almost four-hourly basis!  
  
"There's room enough for two here," She gestured to the space beside her, but continued to gaze up at him. "Sit with me, Hillary...Please?"  
  
He was compelled to do so before either Lara snapped his hand off or shattered his heart.  
  
He held out his free hand to Lara's, and she gratefully placed her hand in his. He kicked the nearby 'on' button for the fire sharply and dutifully sat down.  
  
"What's wrong, Lara dear?" His eyes engaged in sadness for her.  
  
And so, Lara sat, hand in hand with Hillary, in front of the roaring gargantuan Victorian-style fire and regaled him of her heart-wrenching experience in the Cradle of Life. It took the night in almost all its' entirety.  
  
And being the man that Nicholas Hillary was, he hung on her every last word.  
  
A discord of bleeping buzzing and snoring rang around Bryce Manor - the bleeping and buzzing not originating from Bryce himself, obviously.  
  
Suddenly, an all-round louder bleeping spat from his alarm clock.  
  
'8:45am' Flashed mercilessly along with the screeching bleeps. The lesser- encrusted right eye of Bryce snapped open as he flailed an arm across his caravan bed, sending one of his bugs into orbit, to hit the deserving 'off' button.  
  
Finally, his left eye creaked stickily open as he turned to absorb the blinding sunlight shining with little difficulty through his cheap, green paper curtains.  
  
"Morning boys." There was a reply of further beeps from the minuscule robots.  
  
"Time for a pee-break, methinks..."  
  
Bryce hauled his well-rested frame up from the fold-down-fold-away bed, thrust his feet into his boots and stepped outside, immediately sucking in a lung-full of fresh rose-scented air, yawning, then making his short way to Croft Manor.  
  
It was warm, he thought, as he waltzed into the main hall. Usually, around this time Hillary would be busy preparing breakfast along with carrying out numerous other household duties as Lara kicked all life from her kick- boxing training-doll, or earth-quaking around the tracks on her quad-bike, or one of various other athletic, 'too-energetic-for-Bryce' acts.  
  
Lights would be on, music would be shaking the walls and waking all and sundry from their morning slumber and the exasperated yells of Hillary would be heard over all that, screeching for Lady Lara to come and eat the neatly-prepared breakfast he had spent all morning creating.  
  
There was none of that this morning. A glorious, fresh, enlightening morning, and both Hillary and Lara had slept in.  
  
Still, despite the oddness of it all, Bryce had entered the Manor to empty his bladder, and that was just what he intended to do at that precise moment.  
  
He would deal with the lazy buggers later.  
  
He continued his purposeful journey to the men's bathroom, just behind the main sitting room.  
  
Every room in the entire Manor was in a wave of darkness, but none more so than the Main Sitting Room. Bryce entered gingerly, and promptly began searching the walls for the light switch.  
  
Sure, Bryce was a guy. He could pee anywhere...but he wasn't about to inadvertently 'water' an unsuspecting plant, or more to the point, break his leg whilst trying to find a good place to pee.  
  
"Bloody, buggering hell!" He exclaimed quietly to himself, as the whereabouts of the light switch continued to elude him.  
  
Just then, there was an unsettling moan and grunt from somewhere Bryce couldn't quite put his finger on.  
  
He threw himself deftly against the wall, thumping a small, square-shaped object.  
  
And then there was light.  
  
And with that light, appeared the origin of the unexplained sounds.  
  
"....Oh"  
  
There in front of Bryce, lay the hopeless pair, still in the same chair, entwined in each other, still in a lulled state of deep slumber, each bearing a faint but apparent smile. Christian sighed soundlessly and shrugged. The 'Mystery of the Abandoned Manor' was solved. No point in disturbing them.  
  
He shook his head exasperatedly and turned to the light switch, dimming the lights again, before making his way out the way he came in.  
  
Not before taking one last look behind him, however, at the pair sleeping soundly, Lara lying against Hillary's strong form - his arms flowing across her body in undiluted protectiveness. Whatever had happened that previous night which Bryce wasn't party to, was probably something that he would continue to be 'in the dark' about, forever.  
  
And so he let it go at that.  
  
He shut the door behind him, and began the five-minute journey back to the trailer.  
  
Bryce placed a hand on the rusting handle of his minuscule home, but stopped rigidly, throwing his disordered head into his skinny hands.  
  
"Damn!"  
  
His hands duly made their merry way to his crotch, as his legs crossed uncomfortably.  
  
"Toilet!"

* * *


	2. Deja vú

((A.N :: Well, here's chapter 2 now. It's not as good, (pfft!) granted. But I'm in the middle of exams and all I can think is 'German, Graphics, Music, Modern Studies....etc.' Boredom has melted my mental-thesaurus. - You know, that little triceratops that thumps around in my head and works the controls....))

* * *

The repetitive, revenant 'dong' of the Old Grandfather Clock echoed around Croft Manor.  
  
'....Dong'  
  
10 o'clock.  
  
'....Dong'  
  
11.  
  
'....DONG!'  
  
The twelfth awoke Hillary slowly. 12 o'clock..?! The room was engulfed in darkness. Perhaps it was midnight? But then, why could he hear birds outside so clearly?  
  
And WHY was he in the sitting room chair?!  
  
And then he looked down towards his chest. The previous night came flooding back to him. The 'conversation'. Lara's evident desperation.  
  
She still lay across him, sleeping soundly, like a child. His arms still embraced her with an almost equal need. He gazed at Lara, contemplating life without her. Life without Lara, Hillary thought, was simply unthinkable. The world revolved around her.  
  
And on she slept.  
  
He further contemplated, this time whether to slip back into the state that Lara was currently in, but his instinctive urges to clean, tidy and generally take charge of the household took over.  
  
Now, Nicholas was faced with a small problem. How would he slide out from beneath Lara, without disturbing her?  
  
His apparent conundrum was about to be methodically solved. A warm, dry tickle began to menace the back of his throat. He tried swallowing to counteract the itch, but to no avail. A jerk and a resounding cough eventually rectified the distraught Hillary's throat as he watched Lara stir, and gently raise her head from her butler's chest.  
  
"Damn."  
  
He smiled meekly at her, and blinked apologetically.  
  
A minute and tired giggle released itself from Lara, as she turned her head towards the blinding sun slicing it's way through the sitting room curtains.  
  
"Umm...what time is it, Hil?"  
  
He looked over towards the mahogany clock set upon the mantelpiece beside them. His smile dissolved to a harlequin grin.  
  
"It's nearly time for bed, I would say. Late afternoon."  
  
Lara's quiet giggle crescendoed as she sat up from her human cushion, leaving Hillary his ability to move round to a comfortable seating position, akin to hers.  
  
"How are you for dinner, Lady?"  
  
She nodded in reply, as she watched him stand up from the chair.  
  
As he started in the direction of the kitchen, she called after him. He spun round swiftly, to find Lara standing immediately in front of him.  
  
"Hil, last night really meant a lot to me. Thank you. You mean the world to me, I want you to know that."  
  
He nodded, blushing, as she raised her five-foot-six body up onto it's tiptoes and again wrapped her arms around his six-foot-three frame. Again, in his gentile manner, he reverentially imitated. As they embraced, she pulled her face from his shoulder in a way she had done only a few hours ago, and was lost in the copious velvet browns and greens of his eyes.  
  
He too gazed helplessly into hers.  
  
"You mean everything to me too, Lara. More than everything." He flashed a deep, almost angelic smile.  
  
"You mean more to me."  
  
Hillary sighed, beaten. "You were always competitive."  
  
Lara tightened her hold on him and grinned that brazen grin that had taken a special place in Hillary's heart over the years. That grin meant she was happy. And when Lara was happy; Nicholas was ecstatic. Everything was right with the World, and everything in it.  
  
"And you were always there. I just want to say thank you. I don't say that enough, do I?"  
  
This left an opening to chalk one up on Lara.  
  
"No. You don't." Hillary looked on mischievously, as they both broke down into fits of laughter.  
  
The hilarity faded after a short while, as did their grip on each other. They now stood, loosely hand in hand.  
  
Nicholas startled out of his reverie as his eyes' battle with the second- hand of the mantelpiece clock lost.  
  
"It's getting late, Lara, perhaps it would be a good idea to ready that dinner. Christian will be perishing of hunger..."  
  
Lara sighed. Always thinking of others. But who was out to watch over Hillary?  
  
"Yes. We don't want Bryce malnourished - that's the last thing we need... I need his robots."  
  
Another pacific laugh.  
  
Hillary delicately placed a hand on Lara's shoulder, widened his eyes and cocked his head slightly to the side, like a puppy.  
  
Again, she shivered involuntarily, but it wasn't unpleasant this time.  
  
"You're absolutely correct. Plus, I don't want to have to clean up his remains. Too often have I had to do that with intruders here."  
  
His smiled tenderly, reluctantly removed his hand and made his way out, through to the kitchens, leaving Lara rooted where she was.  
  
Her steady breathing had quickly disintegrated, to a wavering collection of brief, Morse Coded sighs.  
  
What was wrong with her?  
  
She was lost in a part of herself she had never visited before as she watched the only constant in her life stroll purposefully through the doors.  
  
"Bye." She said, as he disappeared from sight.

* * *

But then, she had visited 'that part of herself' before... with the irredeemable guidance of one Terry Sheridan.

* * *

"Ah. FINALLY decided on getting your lazy damned backside up from the couch to make me some food."  
  
"Oh, DO be quiet, Christian." Hillary dragged his concentration reluctantly from the chopping board he was so eloquently and efficiently chopping, slicing and shredding various kinds of vegetables on.  
  
Bryce was standing, arms propping his lank frame up against the wide, antique oak door-trim, his facial expression; pure ambivalence, with a sharp injection of a smirk.  
  
"Sleep okay?"  
  
Hillary placed his carrot-chopping knife neatly down on the wide expanse of worktop - a half-mile of polished wood fitted neatly into the space of one large tiled hall of cupboards, fridges and various effulgent displays of cutlery and foodstuffs.  
  
Hillary's 'special place'. Ergo, the most brilliant room in the house. Lara's room aside, of course.  
  
He purposefully and indignantly strode across the extent of black and white mosaic flooring (personally crafted by the butler) to the meat-cabinet and uplifted a large leg of lamb, along with the accompanying 'lamb-knife'.  
  
As he made his way back to the chopping board, he raised his chin a little, in the sort of gesture that would insist that Bryce should either put up with his stubbornness or leave. But, Christian Bryce, being Christian Bryce, decided that 'put up or shut up' wasn't an option.  
  
"So...did ya?"  
  
Nicholas persevered in hacking the meat from the bone in the most gentlemanly way possible.  
  
Without looking up, and without blinking, Hillary replied with a rather curt, "Yes. Thank you."  
  
Another grin tore itself through the lower half of Bryce's face.  
  
"What about Lara?"  
  
"I don't know. You should ask her. Now go away. I'm busy."  
  
"Where is she, Hil?"  
  
"Sitting room."  
  
Bryce's face smugly split even further, as he watched Hillary chopping wildly for a second, then he turned on his heels and waltzed toward the sitting room.  
  
The knife's blade sliced and diced with renewed vigour. Smashing its way through a variety of foods... and despite Nicholas' expertise in the kitchen; it managed to slice his finger quite deeply. He threw the knife down agitatedly and leaned aggressively on the counter, licking his bleeding fingertip.  
  
"Shit."  
  
For the first time, he had lost his concentration completely. Something he had never done before.

* * *

But then, Nicholas HAD lost his concentration like that before...just twenty minutes earlier... with one Lara Croft. 


End file.
